Dead on His Feet
by Penstrokes of Death
Summary: Oneshot. A somewhat amusing idea dealing with Bard's responsibility right after the Battle, in which he is forced to deal with the weariness of mortal man in contrast with the unerring vitality of the elves. Features the Bardlings and the Thrush.


_Disclaimer: Do not own. No profit._

Bard was tired, and hungry, and even more irritated than usual. He wanted to leave and see his children, not sit in a polite partial coma while the Elvenking spoke to his son in another language. Bard felt his head slip off his palm and then jerked awake again. For a second he thought he was seeing double, until his eyes focused and he could separate the two blondes standing in front of him. A collection of unsavoury things he could say came to his worn out mind, but he kept his mouth shut for the sake of his neck.

"Lord Bard."

He jerked up again, "Yes?"

If the answer wasn't respectful enough, there was no sign of it, "You have met my son, Legolas. He will stay with your people until your town is recovered. He is my voice. If you need anything, tell him."

Bard, if he were facing a Man, would have grumbled under his breath that what he needed was sleep, but he wasn't sure how good those pointed ears really were.

"Thank you. Laketown is in your debt."

"We will see." With a nod of his head, Thranduil left.

Bard cleared his throat, "Alright, um…"

"Legolas," The Elf supplied.

"Right, sorry. I haven't slept since-"

"It's alright. We can wait until tomorrow. I am at your leisure."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Prince-"

"You don't have to use titles. For Man, perhaps, being in line for a throne is something they wish to live to claim, but for an Elf, such a day is not expected or hoped for."

Elves were too poetic. That was the bowman's opinion and he was sticking to it. Something twittered on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his seat. The thrush, who had seemingly claimed possession of him, informed him that his children were safe and asleep, exhausted. He nodded and realised he was probably excluding the prince- or whatever he'd said about days and thrones- and that it was also rude. But the Elf was just watching the bird without a word. He didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

"Can you understand him?"

"Of course. Birds are friends of my people."

It said something less than friendly. Bard had quickly realised his bird was the lippiest creature this side of the Misty Mountains. But Legolas smiled and held out his fingers. Surprisingly, the bird hopped right into his hand. Bard had had enough. He was leaving, he was eating supper, and he was sleeping for the next three days. Unless he passed out in his soup and drowned, in which case he might still feel rested.

Even after twelve hours of sleep, Bard still felt comatose. He was mindlessly eating something mushy from a bowl his daughter had handed him, not even noticing if it had taste. The girl hadn't said much to him this morning- she had been working hard too, helping the townspeople get ready for winter- but he'd caught the wary glances she'd given the prince of the Woodland Elves who had, it seemed, spent the whole night outside their temporary home. Bard couldn't deny a certain pride in the passing of his grim and suspicious nature on to his child.

"Where's your brother?" He asked her the next time she walked past him.

"I think he's checking the ruins of Dale. That bird went with him."

He nodded. Tilda, who was probably more likely to get into something, he could see, hiding and staring at their guest from a safe distance away. He took another bite of the stew and started talking just to keep himself awake.

"You aren't one for conversation, are you?"

Legolas looked up, "I am not so used to so much happening. This camp is loud and full of Men, and the land is still talking of the death of the dragon and the battle that followed. I am also still tired from helping in the healing of my people."

"So there is Elf magic, then?"

"Such that is given us, yes. Mostly it concerns growing things, but all talents can be developed." Tilda was bold enough now to sit next to him on the log before the fire, and she watched the Elf prince with mixed wonder and nervousness. Legolas held out something to her, "Here, take this."

She hesitated, but then picked it up. It was a wooden carving that he must have been working on while they were sitting; it was shaped like a dog.

"That's what my hound looks like," He said, "We use him and his kin hunting in the forest."

"What's his name?"

"Aron."

"Thank you, it's very pretty!"

He smiled, "You're welcome."

She held it up and Bard inspected it, "It's good craftsmanship."

"Thank you."

"Your Common is better than many of the Elves I have met."

"I've had a great deal of practice."

"Why is his name Aron?" Tilda reappeared.

"Because he is a beautiful hound, and the name runs very similar to a friend of mine."

"A dog reminds you of your friend?"

"Tilda," Bard warned.

"No, it's alright. Anything beautiful reminds me of her."

"Her?"

Legolas chuckled, "Yes. Her name is Lady Arwen, and she is the most beautiful Elf to live since the First Age. I know her brothers very well, and her father and mine are good friends."

"Do you love her?"

"As dearly as I would love a sister of my own blood."

The girl took a moment to process this, then nodded, possibly disappointed by the lack of any love stories. "Are you going to stay here a long time?"

"I was told to stay until your father decided that he needs our help no longer."

Bard had finished whatever it was he had just eaten and put the bowl down, stretching as he stood up, "Then we may as well get started."

 _ **AN: The movie needed a sassy Thrush. Legolas, you're such a weirdo. But an adorable one.**_


End file.
